Page 51 of Murder on Harley Street
I hugged his arm. “Thank you, Harry. Perhaps one day I can have my name in the newspapers and on your door.”
He laughed softly.
I rubbed his sleeve with my thumb. “I couldn’t have solved the cases without your help.”
“Yes, you could have. But you wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun.”
Accusingone’s client of murder could be a disastrous business move, but if anyone could get away with it, it would be Harry. In his most diplomatic manner, he asked Dr. Iverson if Isabel Kempsey had accepted the ending of their relationship or if she’d been bitter.
The doctor hesitated before answering. “She took it well enough. Mr. Armitage, I don’t understand how that matters.”
Mrs. Iverson sat in her usual seat with the same stoicism I’d come to expect from her. Nothing seemed to faze her, not her husband being taken to Scotland Yard for questioning, not discovering he was having an affair with a patient, and not our continued interrogation when Harry was supposed to be on his side. Now she calmly explained why the question was being asked. “Because if she was bitter, and made threats, then you may have killed her to stop her following through on those threats.”
“Good God, man!” Dr. Iverson exploded. “Why would I engage your services if I were guilty?”
“As a ruse to make it appear as though you’re innocent,” his wife continued.
“It’s necessary to rule you out altogether,” Harry added.
Dr. Iverson dragged both hands over his face, muttering something unintelligible as he did so. He still looked exhausted from his ordeal, his face somewhat ashen. Guilty or not, he was certainly anxious. “Isabel was sad that our relationship ended, but she agreed it was necessary after her husband found out. You have my word. Is that enough?”
“Were you in a relationship with anyone else?” Harry asked.
Dr. Iverson shot to his feet. “I fail to see how that is important.”
“Do sit down,” Mrs. Iverson said. “Mr. Armitage is your best chance of clearing your name. You know the truth won’t upset me, so please just answer him.” A measure of frustration crept into her tone, but I suspected it was frustration at her husband for hesitating because he was worried about her feelings rather than because of his guilt.
Dr. Iverson hitched his trouser legs and sat. “There were others before Isabel, but they weren’t what I’d term a relationship. They were merely dalliances, and they were over by the time I began with Isabel. There has been no one since.”
“Were any of the dalliances with men?” Harry asked.
The question earned quite a strong reaction from both the Iversons. The doctor once again shot to his feet, loudly protesting. His wife’s reaction was rather different. After a small gasp, she laughed.
I was far more interested in her than her husband. She seemed genuinely surprised by the notion. To me, the response was rather telling. If she was surprised, it meant we were wrong. This smart, observant woman would have noticed if her husband liked men in that way. Despite their unconventional relationship, they’d been married a long time—long enough to have a son of university age. She must know him well.
Dr. Iverson shook his finger a mere inch from Harry’s nose. “Who told you that? Whoever it is, they’re lying! I’ve had dozens of women! A hundred, probably. I’veneverbeen with a man. Never even desired one. Not even you, Armitage, and Miss Wainsmith says you’re very handsome.”
Mrs. Iverson rolled her eyes. “How is that question relevant to your investigation, Mr. Armitage?”
Harry gently but firmly moved the doctor’s finger away from his face. “It was merely a theory based on the location for the meeting place stipulated in that anonymous note to Dr. Iverson that was found in Mrs. Kempsey’s things.”
Dr. Iverson tugged on his jacket hem then sat again. “Ah. I see. Your theory is that you think I killed her because she discovered I…like men. Well, I can assure you that theory is quite wrong on several points, the strongest of which being that I amnotof that persuasion. Further, my relationship with Isabel ended by mutual agreement. Neither of us had reason to be upset with the other.”
“And yet you don’t seem particularly distressed by her murder.”
“Of course I’m distressed! Just because I’m not spilling tears doesn’t mean it hasn’t affected me. It has.”
I tended to believe him, based on his appearance. Some of the exhaustion could be attributed to his heartache over losing someone he cared about.
“Before you ask,” Mrs. Iverson said, “I want to assure you that I also didn’t kill her out of jealousy or concern that she was going to expose my husband’s infidelity or ruin his reputation. I hope you believe me, Miss Fox.”
Surprised to be singled out when I’d said very little so far, I blinked at her. “Me?”
“I sense you’re quite intuitive when it comes to judging a person’s honesty, or lack of.”
“I don’t think I’m particularly intuitive. No more so than Mr. Armitage, at least.”
Her smile was rather dismissive. “May I also be so bold as to suggest that whoever killed Mrs. Kempsey wanted to make a statement about my husband by murdering her in his consulting room.”
